


The silence before the storm

by Punkrock_kitten



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Vikings (TV), Vikings (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Cultural Differences, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Ivar the Boneless - Freeform, Knifeplay, M/M, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence, heahmund/ivar smut, heavar, heavar smut, the boys won't admit to liking each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-09-14 15:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punkrock_kitten/pseuds/Punkrock_kitten
Summary: Following Ivar's crowning as king, Heahmund has returned to him once again. Ivar struggles with trusting the bishop despite him having proven that he will stay true to him and him only. Meanwhile the bishop struggles growing accustomed to his new life. Heahmund tries to balance out not only his devotion to god, but also to the heathen by the name of Ivar the boneless.





	1. The boneless serpent

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of work takes place in canon time. I have made some modifications, having Heahmund return to Ivar instead of going back to england.

At the edge of the sea the waves brushed against the cliffs. The sandy beach that surrounded these cliffs was left untouched, almost as if no man had ever stepped foot on this land. There were no life forms to be seen. It was quiet. A sort of poisonous silence that crept across the beach. No man was to be seen. Despite the calm, soothing scenery there was something wrong. When one would gaze upon the sky, one could see that there was a storm coming. A storm no one had ever seen before. Still, there were no sounds indicating this. But it was inevitable.   
  
Devoid of life, except a single crow on the horizon. A cool breeze brushed over the cliffs, it was certain that there was no warmth left. No life. Only a single crow to watch over these wretched lands. The silence was disturbed by a single craw, the sound echoing across the empty beach. The sea turned red, and all sounds returned to the beforehand empty beach. A lightning bolt struck down. This was the start of something big.   
  
That was when Ivar sat up abruptly, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He was sweating profusely. This occurrence had left him weak and trembling; he hated being weak. He hated being vulnerable. Ivar sat there, wondering whether this was his imagination or perhaps a vision sent by the gods, for he did not know. It took him quite some time to realise where he actually was, and surely he was in his bed, safe and sound and free from harm. There was still quiet. But it wasn’t the same looming, poisonous silence as before; there were birds chirping outside, hinting to him that it was morning. _This_ world was filled with life. With warmth. With _feeling_ .   
  
Ivar felt silly for getting so worked up over a simple nightmare, but there was something concerning about it. Something he could feel deep in his gut. He had a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that he just couldn’t seem to shake off.   
  
As he finally gathered his thoughts, he could feel a pair of eyes on him. As if someone was watching him. His long slim fingers reached for the knife on his bedside table, slowly at first. In one swift motion he grabbed it, flipped over and just as he was about to lunge forward he noticed a familiar face staring at him. “Priest- you startled me.” A chuckle erupted from his throat as he laid back down, the knife still in hand.   
  
“I am not a priest.” The bishop answered calmly, staying put. He didn’t even flinch as ivar reached for the knife. He just sat there, darkness covering half his face.   
  
“Priest, Bishop- it is all the same.” He said, brushing off his comment. This bishop, to Ivar, was so plain. So straightforward. Unable to show his true emotions.   
  
“Anyway, tell me Bishop.. why are you watching me sleep? What kind of- uh, _pleasure_ , do you get out of this?” Ivar asked, pushing himself up to sit.   
  
Bishop Heahmund hated the way this heathen used the word pleasure. As if he was hinting at something. “I had just woken up, dear Ivar.” He spat. “I was not able to fall asleep again, so I stayed here.”   
  
“To watch me?”   
  
Again, the almost spiteful tone. He was mocking him, Heahmund was sure of it.   
  
“Mind you, I was making sure you would not get hurt. I was trying to keep you safe.”   
  
Ivar almost snorted at that sentence. It sounded so pure, and despite the bishop being a man of belief, he was far from pure. Both him and Ivar knew that. Ivar remembered his face whenever they had fought together, he remembered the pleasure he could see in his expression whenever he plunged his long, silver sword into a foe’s chest. He said god had chosen him, but ivar suspected that Heahmund enjoyed killing as much as he did.   
  
“You care for me bishop.” Ivar tugged the knife into his belt and proceeded to push himself down onto the floor, landing directly on his chest; he was used to it, but it hurt every time. He knew he must’ve looked pathetic, falling onto his chest like that but he could not seem to care. Ivar placed a palm against the wooden planks, splinters entering his rough hands as he dragged himself towards Heahmund. He slithered over, almost like a snake, until he reached him. Both hands were placed on the man’s thighs, and with all his strength he pulled himself up, now supporting his weight on the man’s lap.   
  
“But if you keep me safe, Bishop, who will take care of you, hm? What will I do if my protector gets hurt?” Ivar looked up at him through his thick eyelashes, blue piercing eyes staring directly into Heahmund’s soul.   
  
Heahmund could not help but admire the Viking currently resting on his lap. He was intriguing. There was something about him he couldn’t quite place his finger on. But he would rather die than admit to that.   
  
He pushed him off his lap, and Ivar landed on the wooden planks with a loud thud. Groaning, he flipped over onto his back, eyes fixated on the man once again. Though aggressive, the push was not entirely out of disgust for Ivar, but perhaps more for the bishop himself. Heahmund stood, grabbing the silver blade resting carefully against the wall; he knew ivar was watching him. And he knew, soon enough, he would make a comment. He took a few steps towards him, gently lifting ivar’s chin with the tip of the sword in his hand. Ivar pushed back against the sharp blade. He flinched as the knife glided across his skin, leaving him shivering from the cool metal pressed so close to his neck. If the bishop wished to kill him right then and there, there was no stopping him. But he had made a promise to Ivar. A promise he had to keep. Heahmund etched his signature in Ivar’s usually silky, smooth skin, making him flinch as the pain seared through the fresh wound. Blood steadily dripped from the cut on his neck and onto the blade. Ivar was almost tempted to lick it off.   
  
His right hand went down his leg, reaching for the small knife tugged away.   
  
“You wanna kill me bishop? Is that what you want?”   
  
Heahmund applied more pressure on the blade; he would not let the Heathen humiliate him this time. Ivar stayed put, barely showing any sort of reaction.   
  
“Come on, Bishop. Do it.” Ivar said, giving him a second to think things through. He was not scared because if the bishop truly wished to end his life, he would have done it by now.   
  
As the man was seemingly distracted, Ivar pulled up the knife and quickly sliced only one of his ankles, watching as Heahmund fell to his knees. As he hissed in pain, Ivar took the opportunity to throw himself onto him.   
  
Due to Heahmund being distracted, there wasn’t much of a struggle. Ivar easily overpowered him, lying on top of his torso, pressing his entire weight onto him to keep him down. He now had the blade close to Heahmund’s neck, breathing heavily. Ivar enjoyed pain. Enjoyed watching the fear in someone’s eyes before he would take their life.   
  
“You think you can kill me?” He laughed; it was a dry laugh, without any emotion.   
  
“Say it. Come on- say it! Say it Heahmund!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, their faces inches apart; Heahmund was not afraid, that much was certain. But perhaps disgusted.   
  
Ivar proceed to scream, taunting him. He pulled at his collar, his blue eyes cold; the first time Heahmund had looked into Ivar’s eyes he had been sure that he was looking into the devil’s very soul. And maybe he was actually the devil.   
  
Ivar’s hands didn’t let go for one moment. He clutched tightly onto his shirt. The cold steel was still pressed against Heahmunds neck. Few droplets of blood trailed down his pale neck.   
  
“You want to, do you not? Then do it! Or, ah, are you too afraid? Are you afraid your god is gonna judge you?” He snarled.   
  
Heahmund refused to react. He refused to give Ivar the satisfaction. He just looked at him, face red. Ivar definitely knew how to get to people.   
  
“But let me tell you this, bishop. I am your only god now. Do not forget that.” He said, now whispering so that only Heahmund was able to hear this.   
  
He patted his cheek and laughed before he pushed himself off the larger man. He place both arms against the planks and proceeded to worm his way out of the room, leaving Heahmund completely and utterly speechless. The bishop was left in a room of sin, Ivar’s taunting laugh echoing down the hall.   
  
*   
  
Kneeling on the floor was the bishop, the entire room filled with darkness, the candles being the only things to light up the dimmed room. Surrounded by darkness, he muttered;   
  
“O Lord, Jesus Christ, Redeemer and Saviour, forgive my sins, just as You forgave Peter's denial and those who crucified You. Count not my transgressions, but, rather, my tears of repentance. Remember not my iniquities, but, more especially, my sorrow for the offenses I have committed against You.”   
  
The bishop had left his sins behind him long ago; that was to say his sexual urges. But he still had desires. He still had needs. Sadistic, gruesome needs. He had long ago brushed the thought of him enjoying sadistic acts aside, but now was different. Ever since he had met the Heathen, Ivar the Boneless, he had found himself to want other things. He still wanted to hurt him, to see him suffer, but the problem was that Ivar enjoyed suffering, even when inflicted upon himself. And Heahmund, to some extent, sort of liked that about the ruthless viking. But it was safe to say he did not only want to see him in pain, but also in pleasure. And for that, god help him, he surely needed guidance.   
  
Heahmund stood, legs trembling as he glanced around the room. He was barely alone nowadays; somehow, the viking was always around. Lurking in the shadows, waiting to slither forward like the snake he was. Heahmund could not deny that he enjoyed the company of Ivar, but every once in a while he desired to be left alone with his thoughts. His thoughts, however, always seemed to revolve around Ivar.   
  
The door sprung open, bringing the bishop’s attention elsewhere. In front of him was Hvitserk, one of Ragnar Lothbrok’s sons. Heahmund wondered whatever use he would have of him. Soon enough Hvitserk would answer that exact question.   
  
“The king wants to see you.” Hvitserk said, a hint of dreariness in his voice.   
  
Heahmund wondered why Hvitserk referred to his brother as ‘the king’, surely he should know that Heahmund of all people did not care about that. He would not go running off to Ivar, telling him all about the disrespect he had encountered. Heahmund was not Ivar the boneless’s pet, despite what Ivar thought of that. Heahmund knew that Ivar saw him as a pet, but he would never admit to being that.   
  
“The king, you say? What does he wish of me, Hvitserk, son of Ragnar Lothbrok?” Heahmund turned to him sword in hand once again.   
  
“I don’t know, that is Ivar’s business.” Hvitserk made sure never to question his brother’s weird requests.   
  
“Ah. I See. I will be in the great hall in a moment.” He said, waving his hand at him to dismiss him.   
  
There was a look on Hvitserk’s face that Heahmund could not quite figure out. He looked nervous, hand clenched into a fist, avoiding all eye contact. Hvitserk knew how his brother viewed the christian in front of him, but, once again he chose not to question it for his own good.   
  
“He wish to see you in his room.” He said bluntly. He did not even give Heahmund time to reply as he rushed out of the door, shutting it quickly behind him. Heahmund stood there for a moment, considering what had just been said to him. Ivar always seemed so full of surprises, and the bishop could never seem to get behind his train of thought.   
  
Heahmund knew he would have to go and see for himself, his curiousness controlling him more than his faith in god at this point. Or perhaps it was the viking king, Ivar, son of Ragnar, that pulled all the strings in his life.


	2. Every man's game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're playing a game called Hnefatafl.  
> It is an old game that came to the world during the viking age. It is very similar to chess, but not quite.  
> This site: http://tafl.cyningstan.com/page/20/a-rule-book-for-hnefatafl gives a pretty good explanation of what the game is about.
> 
> Also! A huge thanks to author painfulprose for looking through my work and editing it!

The door was closed; seemingly nothing going on behind it. The bishop stood in front of it, considering whether he should enter or not. He wondered what Ivar could want from him; besides, what could be so dire that he wanted to speak to him alone in his room?

  
He took a deep breath before he placed his hand on the handle. It seemed much heavier, as if someone had placed a spell on it. He finally managed to open it and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.   
  
Heahmund was not sure what he had been expecting, but in front of him was Ivar, lying on the big bed covered in several furs gathered from hunts. He was not wearing a shirt, leaving his chest exposed to whoever wanted to enter his room. In this case, that had been Heahmund, and the bishop truly did not know what to think of the whole situation.

  
Ivar finally seemed to notice the bishop standing near the door. A wide grin spread on his face as he chuckled lightly. Ivar flipped over awkwardly and grabbed the piece of fabric discarded on the floor before he slid his shirt on. Ivar took no time to explain what he wanted as he rolled off the bed, landing on the floor. He had an idea of what the bishop might be thinking, as he slithered forward. It did not have the same effect as when he used his wooden stakes; he did not bring the same fear along with him, and Heahmund wondered whether it was because he allowed him to be himself, or if he simply did not care.

  
In the middle of the room there was a table, a chair on each side. Ivar placed his palms flat against the chair as he pulled himself up. A grunt escaped his lips as he used all his upper strength to pull himself onto the chair. Ivar looked at the Christian in front of him, blue eyes gleaming in the dimly lit room.  
  
“Why are you still standing? Sit, bishop.” Ivar grinned and gestured to the empty chair across from him.    
  
“I was not sure if I was allowed to sit, _your majesty._ ”  
  
Ivar laughed with a cold glint in his eye. He was not genuinely happy; the sound a dry one. It was a laugh that made Heahmund’s insides twist. He could tell by the look on the heathen’s face that if he did not sit down right this instant, Ivar would come up with something to _make_ him sit. So that was what the bishop did.

  
There was a quiet. Ivar could sense the discomfort, but he could not find himself to care. Or rather, he enjoyed it to some extent. He got the same satisfying feeling out of watching the fear on someone’s face when about to get killed by him, but also the fear on someone’s face when they were left alone with him. Ivar would much rather be feared than loved, and it seemed he had succeeded in that so far. Even his brothers had feared him, so he had grown accustomed to it. Ivar did not need love, nor did he need pity. He had the whole world in the palm of his hand, and no one would ever dare to stop him.  
  
“Hnefatafl.”  
  
The bishop’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked into the eyes of the cripple. Not once did he blink. From time to time, Ivar would mutter things in his own language; the bishop unable to understand what exactly he was saying. It was never anything good.  
  
Heahmund’s eyes flickered back to the wall, searching for the sword that had been given to him by God himself. He seemed it strange. There were no weapons in sight, only a variety of crutches in different sizes and material.  
  
“Do you remember the rules, bishop?  
  
Ivar slammed his fist onto the table, bringing the bishop’s attention back to him. Heahmund turned his head immediately; he knew well enough that Ivar the Boneless did not like to be kept waiting.   
  
“The rules?”  
  
Ivar grinned wickedly as he placed the board game onto the table. He proceeded to put the king onto the board, as well as with a small group of defenders. Surrounding the king and his defenders were the attackers; twice as many as the defenders.  
  
“Or were you too busy with Lagertha?”  
  
Ivar slammed the last playing piece down onto the board. His clenched hand was shaking ever so slightly. Ivar’s eyes met the Bishop’s own. The way Ivar looked at him made him feel like the viking could burn his skin with a single glance. Ivar was dangerous; especially when angry. The look in his eyes always made it seem like he knew everything about a person; their fears, their insecurities and their weaknesses. Most people would not even dare to _think_ while around Ivar, scared that he just might reach into one’s soul.  
  
“You get to start, bishop. It’s all about strategy. You would know all about that, would you not?”   
  
Ivar pulled his hand away from the piece he had been clutching so hard beforehand. The bishop, when he laid his eyes upon the pieces, noticed they were covered in blood. Just like all of Ivar’s belongings. One could never be sure if he had murdered someone, or if the blood was his own.  
  
“I was the commander once,” Heahmund replied. It was better to keep the conversation going, as well as the game. He moved a piece two spots forward. Heahmund decided to attack this time; he was tired of defending. Oh so tired.   
  
“Ah, you are right bishop… You were a great warrior with a great army, helping the English king,” Ivar said, carefully avoiding the piece that had just been moved.  
  
Heahmund knew what Ivar was trying to do. But two could play at that game.  
  
“I am still a great warrior, but I was taken against my will. Until a woman rescued me.”  
  
Ivar sat there, frozen for a short moment as they looked into each other’s eyes. Lagertha had saved him, was that not what he was trying to say? That he had been saved from Ivar’s terrible heathen army?  
  
Ivar merely laughed, clapping his hands together.  
  
“Are you trying to hurt my feelings? Poor Ivar, the cripple boy, he needs his Christian.”   
  
Ivar leaned over, sticking his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. As Heahmund watched with disgust in his eyes, Ivar managed to snatch one of his attackers.   
  
“And did you not come back, bishop?”   
  
Heahmund was left speechless. Ivar was already leading. Always one step ahead. Always winning. Heahmund would not hear of this. He would not let Ivar win once again.  
  
“Yes. I did. Because you need me.”   
  
Heahmund continued to surround one of his pieces; now, it seemed, the bishop was in the lead. He could tell by the look on Ivar’s face that he had struck a nerve. Ivar _did_ need him. The truth was that Heahmund was Ivar’s equal. He was not frightened by the viking’s heinous acts. He was not afraid. Intimidated, perhaps, but he had grown used to his mannerisms. By now he knew how to defend himself against the terrible viking.  
  
“I do not need you, bishop. I have an army. I have a kingdom. And you? What do you have?” he spat, pointing at him with the knife he had threatened him with earlier that day. He moved another piece. Once again closer to victory. Heahmund, on the other hand, was prepared for this.  
  
“Ah. That’s right, Ivar. I only had true love, ” he said casually, as if it was nothing. Heahmund reached forward, fingers lingering in the air before he too moved a piece. He sat back down, watching Ivar intently. He was trying to get a reaction out of him. Anything to show that Ivar had emotions.

 

And Heahmund’s wish was granted. He could hear the faint sound of Ivar tapping one of his fingers against the wooden desk. He was _nervous._

 

Although not the reaction the bishop had hoped for, it was something at least. Ivar started twitching the knife in the palm of his hand. He was pressing the tip gently against the wooden table; spinning it. His eyes were still on the bishop. Heahmund was satisfied with the viking’s loss of words. He had reached a dead end.  
  
Ivar then moved another piece swiftly. And once again, he was leading. The bishop was impressed, to say the least.  
  
“What do you know of love bishop? Your god is dead. Your god thinks he is- that he is _so_ much better than all his followers, while _our_ gods know of their own mistakes-”  
  
“No- what do _you_ know about love, Ivar?”  
  
Ivar looked surprised; he had not expected the bishop to even dare to cut him off like that.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
The bishop leant in, grabbing a piece, eyes on the board.   
  
“You heard me, Ivar. How could a sad cripple like you possibly know what love is?”  
  
Heahmund moved a piece. Ivar didn’t seem to reply; he was at a loss for words. He continued to take a turn.   
  
_Wrong move._  
  
“Ivar the Boneless, who murdered his brother in cold blood, and would do the same to any other relative if it benefitted him.”  
  
Silence. Another move was made on both behalfs.   
  
“Why are you so quiet, Ivar? Am I right?”  
  
Ivar twisted the knife in hand. He was continuously carving into the same spot on the table. His jaw was clenched. Heahmund had obviously struck a nerve. He wondered if he should continue. He was winning the game, but that was not the reason as to why he was mentioning Ivar’s past. No, he wanted to _hurt_ him. It was no secret that the bishop, for some reason, enjoyed pain endured to not only himself, but also others. More specifically: To Ivar.  
  
“Tell me, Ivar, have you ever experienced any kind of love? Kindness?”  
  
He paused.  
  
“What about women? Or, well… they _do_ call you Ivar the _Boneless,_ so-”  
  
Ivar cut him off, bringing the knife to Heahmund’s neck without any hesitation. A hint of light spilled inside the room, the knife glistening as Ivar twisted it between his fingers. The tip poked his neck carefully. Ivar could feel his heart beating faster and faster as he breathed heavily. The bishop could sense the viking’s malice and twisted insanity. But he was not scared. He had intended to hurt him, and he knew that if hurt badly enough, Ivar would act upon it. But Ivar was not stupid. He knew when it would be beneficial for him to hurt another person.  
  
But then Ivar cackled again. A twisted, gruesome laugh that made the bishop’s heart twist as he was reminded of the first time he had laid eyes on the heathen.   
  
“Well done, Heahmund! Tell me, do you have what it takes to win?”  
  
Heahmund sat there, glancing down at the board. He was one move away from winning. One move away from capturing the king. And so, Heahmund did. He grabbed the piece and placed it at the last opening. There were no more moves to make. No more snarky comments. Heahmund had finally won.  
  
“Well, Heahmund. You won over the king. You know what that means, right?” Ivar taunted, a low growl to his voice. “The king is now at your power…”

 

He seemed to look Heahmund over for a moment before flashing his sharp canines.

 

“... and you may do with him as you please. That _is_ the rules of war, bishop.”

  
Heahmund looked up at him. He had an idea of what Ivar was hinting at. Again, the blue eyes were looking directly through his soul, searching for any secrets , or perhaps, in this case, any _desires._

  
Ivar leaned closer, pushing the board aside. The two of them maintained eye contact. Neither of them wanted to look away from the other.   
  
“Tell me what you want me to do. I am at your mercy, _your grace._ ”   
  
And sure enough, the bishop seemed to have an idea of what he might want from the viking.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!  
> Also, don't worry, there will be smut VERY soon. Sooner than one might think ;)  
> I have a lot of store for these two, so buckle up, kiddos.


	3. Yule blót

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter of the series!  
> I hope you all enjoy this one, i spent quite some time on it, and i tried to be as accurate as possible! If you have any questions feel free to do so!

The sun rose over the horizon, sunlight shining through the curtains. A chorus of birds erupted in the distance, the silence of the night now disturbed by the sounds of the wildlife just outside the window. The days were getting shorter, darker, and colder. Winter had made its way to the village, seemingly unnoticed.   
  
Ivar was awoken once again with beads of sweat running down his forehead. He felt sticky; the sweat clinging to his upper body. Another nightmare. The past week he had had the same nightmare every single night, it seemed, but the nightmare had only gotten worse and worse every time he had dreamt it. The images had been far more vivid than the first time. He still had no clue as to what it _meant_ , but it was still leaving him trembling just by the thought of it.  
  
He slid on the shirt beside him, knowing he did not have time for a bath this morning. He wrapped the straps around each leg, eyes drifting to the crutch leaning against the wall. Ivar reached out after it, but instead found himself tripping. His heartbeat carelessly bashed together, realization only at his attention before it was too late. He reached out to grab onto something to save himself from falling flat on his face, or at least to soften the fall, but to no avail. Ivar grunted as he made contact with the hard surface, hissing in slight pain. He was used to it. Oh, was he used to it.   
  
Ivar had always been underestimated due to his disability, and to some extent, he was grateful for that. It had drawn a lot of followers and supporters to him, once people had realized his natural talent as a strategist and warrior in the field. He would not change himself for anyone or anything. It made him stronger, as his father had always told him. But on bad days he did not feel particularly strong. He felt weak. Pathetic. But he would never tell anyone this.   
  
“You seem like you need some help?”  
  
His attention was drawn towards the sudden sound of a familiar voice, and as expected, Heahmund was standing in the doorway. It seemed he had gotten too comfortable living under these conditions. He was still a prisoner to Ivar. A pet. He had no right to enter his room without knocking.  
  
“I have done things by myself since I was a child. Do you really think I need your help, now?”  
  
He gave a bitter bark of a laugh as he reached out for his crutch, supporting himself and pushing up to stand.  
  
He had not seen much of the bishop since he had offered to do whatever his heart desired. A week, to be exact. It even seemed like Heahmund might have been avoiding him this entire time. Ivar was angry. Angry that he had offered _himself_ to this Christian, and had been turned down. There was a slight possibility that Heahmund simply had not understood what the heathen had been hinting at, but Ivar strongly doubted that was the case. Heahmund was a smart man. Either way, he wanted to _hurt_ him. And that was exactly what he intended to do.  
  
“I was trying to-”  
  
“It does not matter what you were trying to do, bishop. I do not need anyone, especially not some Christian.”  
  
Heahmund nodded shortly, arms behind his back. For a change, he had not brought his sword with him. He had no intention to hurt Ivar, and he certainly did not find the need to defend himself. Things had been calm the last few days. He felt like he had finally settled in. Perhaps he could get used to the heathen ways of living.   
  
“Why are you in my room?”  
  
Heahmund did not have an explanation as to why he was there. It was strange, truly. Especially after that evening. Not to mention that the viking seemed very reluctant to have him there.  
  
“It does not change anything,” Ivar said, taking slow and heavy steps towards him.  
  
“I do not have time for you. I am a king now, and I have duties. But.. “  
  
Suddenly, Ivar had an idea.   
  
“I am glad you are here, bishop. I wanted to tell you about the feast we are having tonight.”  
  
“A feast?”  
  
“To ensure that we will have a rich and plentiful crops next year.”  
  
Heahmund was not used to the frequency of feasts and celebrations, but he was curious nonetheless.   
  
“I will be there,” Heahmund replied, nodding in his direction before he left the room.  
  
Ivar let his lips curl into a grin as he watched him leave. The bishop sure had a surprise coming.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Heahmund, among other men, was standing in the crowd of people cheering. Ivar had yet to show up, leaving Heahmund alone with drunken fools. Alcohol was handed to him every once in a while, and he rejected every single offer that was made. The bishop did not see it fit to abandon his vows for a single celebration. A barbarian’s celebration for that matter.   
  
The music was so loud that it made his skin tingle. The celebration went on into the night, people grinding and yelling and bumping into each other. Truly, the bishop had never seen this sort of feast before. Back in England, the Saxons would simply eat their meals and go back to their chambers. Here it seemed the feasts did not end until far into the night.   
  
The sound of loud thudding and someone dragging themself to the scene could manage to be heard over the commotion. Everyone went quiet almost at once. Only one person could have that much power over people. Only one person could be so intimidating.   
  
_Ivar._ _  
__  
_ And surely, Heahmund was right in his speculations. People gathered around the cripple as he shuffled over, awkwardly crutching himself towards them. If it had been anyone else, the bishop would have dismissed them. But Ivar had some sort of elegance to him. Some kind of power.   
  
“People! I thank you all for joining this day of celebration,”  
  
Cheers erupted; most of them Heahmund did not understand.   
  
“As you all know, it is Yule time. We will make the goddess of sun happy. Now, we have reached the time to make a sacrifice for the gods. We will exchange gifts to ensure lots of crops the following year.”  
  
A strange-looking viking was centered in the crowd, standing on a platform. All kinds of plates and bowls surrounded her. She was probably a sort of priest.   
  
“And this year I have decided that a new person will perform this ritual. Heahmund, if you would step forward.”  
  
Heahmund was surprised to hear his own name, and he was unsure what the viking wanted from him.   
He was pushed forward, people either cheering or complaining about a Christian performing this rite. Someone pushed a fairly large horse into the circle, and Heahmund had an idea of what these heathens wished him to do.  
  
A sword was handed to him, but it was not just any sword. This was his own blade, given to him by God himself.   
  
People began chanting words that Heahmund had never heard before. Heahmund’s face went as pale as his own eyes. He grabbed the handle tightly as he moved forward, the details of his surroundings hard to make out. His mind was swirling; regret, doubt, and fear all at once. His breaths were shallow, and his innards were twisting, a feel of nausea hitting him. He felt like he was going to throw up. He could not leave the path of righteousness simply to please Ivar. Yet he knew if he did not, he would surely get killed.  
  
He raised the blade, looking into the eyes of the much larger creature. Taking the life of a creature, or rather a human, had never been hard. But now, as he looked into the eyes of the horse, he felt like god was staring right back at him. Right into his very soul. It was almost the same way Ivar looked at him.   
  
Hands trembling, he swung the sword, seeing the horse’s eyes wide with the fear of its final moments, then made a clean cut as the head fell to the ground with a loud thud.  
  
_Silence._ _  
__  
_ People had not expected the bishop to go through with the deed. Even as the head of the horse rolled down to his feet, the crowd was quiet. He glanced at it for a short moment before he heard the crowd erupt into cheers. Heahmund, on the other hand, did not feel like celebrating.  
  
He looked at the sword in his hand. What had before been a pure sword, only used for doing God’s deeds, was now coated in blood from a sacrifice. A heathen sacrifice for that matter. Thick, crimson beads of blood streamed down the blade and onto his trembling hands. It made him sick to his stomach.The scarlett blood that had oozed down the bishop’s sword in thick droplets now dripped down into the bowl. Now, the blood from the creature’s severed head flowed so freely, also ending up in the bowl, filling it up. The rest of the blood lay in pools around the carcass, scattered about. Heahmund made a face of pure disgust; A sickeningly dry, sweet metallic smell reached his nose. He brought up his hand to cover his mouth. He would not throw up here, not among all these vikings. Especially not in front of Ivar.  
  
The viking, that Heahmund had assumed to be a priestess, picked up the bowl. The crowd continued to chant as she passed it around.   
  
As Heahmund stood there, trying to catch his breath, he then noticed the carcass of the animal being passed around, people laughing and chatting. The carcass was then doused in the blood from its own body, and Heahmund could not help but to shiver at the sight. Never had he seen anything like it, or expected the heathens to be this terrible.   
  
Before he knew it, Ivar was in front of him. He dipped his fingers in the bowl of blood, a wicked grin on his lips. Reaching forward, he ran his blood-coated finger down Heahmund’s face and down his neck.  
  
“Thank you, bishop, for ensuring that the next year will be good and plentiful.”  
  
Heahmund took a step back, sword still in hand. Ivar had planned this. He had known this all along. He shook his head and turned around. He ploughed through the crowd in a fit of anger, ignoring the comments made along his way. He needed to see his god. Needed to repent for his sins towards himself and the Christian faith.  
  
The bishop rushed into a chamber in such a hurry that one might think he was running from something. And in all honesty, he was trying to escape the heathens and their gruesome rituals. He immediately fell to his knees, dropping his sword on the ground, the sound echoing through the hallway.  
  
“Dear God- I have… tainted this holy sword by taking part in these heathen rituals. Have I forsaken your path, oh Lord? Tell me what to do, please! This.. This heathen has deluded me to follow their barbaric rules. I have been lead astray from your light- I… I do not know what to do. _Please._ ”  
  
Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was angry, upset, hurt even. There were no words describing how betrayed he felt at this moment.   
  
“Please tell me what to do- I.. I am not strong enough to withstand this _temptation._ My mind is in shambles. Give me some kind of sign, anything. Anything!”  
  
Then, all of a sudden, the door was pushed open with such power that Heahmund was sure the heathen had come to kill him.  
  
“What is wrong, bishop? Afraid of a little blood?”  
  
And at that, the bishop got up and stomped over. He reached out, strong hands wrapping around Ivar’s neck as he shoved him against the wall.  
  
“Have you come here to mock me, heathen?” he spat.  
  
Ivar struggled to breathe, heaving for air. Tiny little specks of light clouded his eyes, his vision narrowing as the bishop simply pushed harder. Still, he knew the bishop had no intent to kill him. He grabbed his hand and managed to pull Heahmund off of him.   
  
Ivar gasped as he tried to catch his breath, rubbing his neck. Red fingerprints were already beginning to form from where the brute’s fingers had been.   
  
“Maybe. Or maybe I came to see if you were okay.”  
  
The uncertainty in Ivar’s voice almost made Heahmund believe that he was, in fact, telling the truth. Almost.  
  
“Do not make me laugh, heathen. You and I both know you do not care for anyone but yourself.  
  
Ivar grinned; though his words were harsh, they were still truthful.  
  
“That might be true, bishop,”  
  
A pause.  
  
“But you should get used to this new way of living. Abandon the man you call your god and accept me as your new god. You have nowhere to go, after all. You cannot go back to England, now, can you?”  
  
“I will never take part in your heathen activities!” he yelled.  
  
“Oh, but you did, bishop! You sacrificed to _our_ gods, Christian. Or, well, I guess I cannot call you that anymore, can I?”  
  
Ivar chuckled. Heahmund felt his eyes burning out of pure frustration.  
  
“You keep saying how important your god is to you, but you have _sinned_ , have you not? You like killing, even for a heathen army.  And do not act like I do not know what you did while you were with Lagertha.”  
  
Ivar limped over. Despite his clear disadvantage, the viking radiated power.   
  
“You like to let your desires take over..”  
  
He paused and brought a hand up hesitantly, taking hold of Heahmund’s chin.  
  
“Surely your god does not watch your every move? I am sure he would not mind if you would, I don’t know, indulge in sin.”  
  
Heahmund looked at Ivar for a moment, his mind in shambles. Like the other night, he knew what the viking was suggesting. Ivar wanted him; in more than a friendly way, it seemed. And God forbid it, Heahmund wanted him too.  
  
Before he had time to stop himself, his hands had made their own way up to the viking’s face. Dear God, he could not fight the thoughts that were going through his head. Ivar was flooding his senses now. He took no time to hesitate as he brought their lips together in a kiss. It was not gentle; it was a hot, fiery and passionate kiss. Ivar’s hands worked their way around his body, feeling each crevice, each and every line along his perfect physique.   
  
Ivar had to hobble back to take a breath. He had wanted this for sure, but never had he expected the Christian to act upon his urges.  
  
“I guess you’ll take me up on that offer, eh?”  
  
And so it seemed the bishop would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, comments are much appreciated! I want to make my writing better, and flatter sure doesn't hurt either haha. Anyways, sorry for practically promising smut in the previous chapter. It didn't seem fit for this chapter. But soon my dears, soon.


	4. The silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Painfulprose helped me edit this as they've done with all the other chapters.  
> I finally managed to finish this chapter! I'm fairly certain it's the longest one so far, actually. I'm sorry it took me so long, i just couldn't seem to finish it. Plus, yeesh, i have no idea how to write smut tbh.  
> I hope you all enjoy it, though!

Ivar could not recall when exactly it had happened, but at one point they had moved from the door and onto Heahmund’s bed. Ivar was sitting on top of him, the bishop guiding his legs so he was currently straddling him. This time Ivar wasted no time as he moved his finger across Heahmund’s cheekbone, tracing his finger along the scar presumably given to him in one of his many battles. Ivar pressed his hand against his cheek, giving him more support to push himself against Heahmund, their lips making contact once again. The kiss sent a sudden warmth through Ivar’s body, spiralling through his system. Ivar continued to press his lips against Heahmund’s- force increasing as he became more adamant to explore the countless possibilities given to him.  
  
Ivar let his hand slide up the side of his face, ending up in  Heahmund’s dark locks. He gave them a light tug, testing the waters.To his surprise, he was rewarded with a low grunt coming from the back of Heahmund’s throat. Ivar found that he quite liked pleasing the bishop like that.  
  
With one hand in the bishop’s hair, the other made its way behind his own back. His fingers wrapped around the knife tucked away in his belt, slowly pulling it forward. Ivar remembered the bishop’s previous reactions to feeling the cold steel against his skin. He wanted to see that again. The bishop, despite his beliefs, was far more gruesome than a heathen like Ivar could ever be.  
  
The knife was a relatively long blade. Seven inches of cold steel; a hardwood handle attached to it. Several runes had been whittled into it, presumably by Ivar’s  predecessors. Sigurd, his brother that had been killed so tragically, and of course, the original owner: Ragnar Lothbrok. He had never killed another man with this knife, not wanting to taint it with Christian blood. Yet, there were other ways to hurt people than killing.   
  
Ivar swiftly brought the knife up to Heahmund’s cheek. His eyes followed the blade as he traced it along the scar on his rough skin. Ivar could practically smell the fear as the bishop shivered underneath his touch. Then again, it seemed that his fear and arousal went hand in hand.   
  
“Where did you get that scar?”  
  
He pressed the tip of the blade into his cheek, small droplets sliding down his cheek. He noticed the change, Heahmund grimacing as he winced in pain. Ivar could feel something deep inside him that made him crave _more._ And as stated earlier, he wanted to see Heahmund suffer. Something was telling him that Heahmund wanted that, too.   
  
“During a battle in Wessex a few years ago,” he said, followed by a grunt as he felt the sharp pain deepen as it was pushed deeper into his skin.  
  
“I’d like to make another scar.”  
  
Heahmund looked at him for a moment, unsure what exactly Ivar had in mind. Was it a threat?  
  
Heahmund gritted his teeth, startled at the sudden presence of a dagger against his throat. The blade was so sharp that Heahmund was sure Ivar would be able to slice his throat with as little to no effort.  
  
Suddenly, he felt Ivar’s tongue against his cheek, licking up every last drop of blood that spilled from the open wound. His tongue traced down his cheek and to his neck. He chuckled against the bishop’s neck, sending vibrations through Heahmund’s body.  
  
“You like inflicting pain, bishop,” he said, cold metal against Heahmund’s neck.  
  
“I can see it in your eyes..” Ivar mused, cutting through one of the strings in Heahmund’s shirt.  
  
“What if I do, Ivar? If it is all in God’s name, then surely there could be nothing wrong with it.”  
  
Another string was cut off. Ivar chuckled. That low, condescending laugh the bishop knew far too well.  
  
“Oh, of course.. The will of your god. But is God alright with you enjoying other sorts of pain?”  
  
In one swift movement, Ivar cut the rest of the shirt open, ripping it apart. Heahmund’s strong chest was now on display, exposed to whatever the viking wished to do to it.   
  
“What other sorts of pains are enjoyable?” he said; the usual confidence gone. He was well aware that if Ivar wished to kill him, there was no stopping him as of right now.  
  
“Do not play dumb with me, Heahmund. You know what I’m talking about…”  
  
Ivar held the knife, twisting it in the moonlight as he made contact with his skin again. His face split into to a manic grin, tongue on display.   
  
Heahmund shivered underneath his touch. It was true. Of course it did not give him the same pleasure he received as he watched the light in someone’s eyes go out. But it was a different kind of pleasure. Although never expected, he liked the cold steel running up and down his sensitive chest, threatening to end his life if Ivar wished to do so.   
  
Deep in thoughts, Heahmund was suddenly pulled back to reality. The knife was pushed into his skin, blood pouring out of his side despite the size of the new wound. Ivar merely smiled as the incision was made. He hissed, chest heaving as he pushed the viking off of him.   
  
“Just a reminder. I have the power over your life, Heahmund. Only I can take you from this world. I told you. If you want to live, you should start worshipping _me.”_  
  
His insides were twisting; moving around. Ivar’s two fingers pressed against the wound. He brought them up to his lips, maintaining eye contact as he wrapped said lips around his fingers. The bishop stared directly into Ivar’s eyes. No pain. No regret. He did not know whether the heathen had any compassion left in his cold soul.   
  
“I bleed as any mere man does, dear Ivar. But God is no mortal man. He does not bleed.”  
  
Ivar’s brows furrowed; he had a hard time understanding Heahmund’s words from time to time.  
  
He was not given any time to wonder, however as the bishop shoved him; Ivar landing on his back. The bed softened the fall from the sudden attack, but Heahmund was on him in an instant.  
  
The bishop took no time to hesitate as he wrapped his fingers around the Heathen’s wrists. Ivar tried to struggle against him, but had to give up the fight. With the bishop’s advantage of him lying on top of Ivar, there was no way he could overpower him, even if he wanted to.   
  
The knife dropped to the ground, the sound echoing through the great halls.  
  
“You are no god, Ivar the Boneless,” Heahmund spat. “You bleed, too. You hurt, too.”   
  
Heahmund discarded Ivar’s shirt on the ground, now leaving the two of them with both their chests exposed.  
  
Ivar tried to protest, but Heahmund simply covered his mouth, tired of Ivar’s snarky remarks.   
  
“No. Now you will listen, heathen. I am in charge now, do you understand?”  
  
No reply.  
  
“I said: Do you understand!?” he shouted.  
  
He flinched, pulling his hand back quickly as he felt Ivar’s teeth sink into the palm of his hand.  
  
Heahmund had had enough of these games. He pushed Ivar back down, a hand around his neck as he continued to discard his own pants.  
  
Ivar, who had previously been so calm, seemed to freeze, as if he had not realised the gravity of the situation until now. That was, until Heahmund was left in his undergarments; seemingly having done this before. Ivar’s breaths sped up, now rapid and shallow. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temple, his entire body shaking. Yet, the bishop did not seem to stop.  
  
Ivar was _scared._ Never in his life had he been scared of anything. He did not fear death, the gods, or any man on this planet. But _this_ , allowing himself to be so vulnerable, scared him.  
  
The bishop continued to remove the remaining clothes from both of their persons. Only then had Ivar noticed that the bishop’s hands were dangerously low to his crotch.  
  
Ivar looked up at him. His body was trembling from underneath Heahmund’s hold. He realised, just then, that he had no idea how to pleasure another person- let alone another man. Ivar was familiar with his own body, yes, but he had never experienced any sort of release. He had never been able to.   
  
Heahmund was entirely naked, Ivar’s eyes wandering down from his face and all the way down to his crotch. Truly, he had not expected Heahmund to be that well equipped. He was fairly large, or what Ivar assumed was large, judging by his standards. He was not sure where the bishop intended to put his length; neither were women, and Ivar had no idea who would be receiving.  
  
Heahmund had placed his sword against the wall, clothes thrown on the ground and folded neatly to be placed on the table beside his bed.  
  
“You’re still dressed,” Heahmund remarked, his attention brought to it as he had laid eyes on the heathen.   
  
Ivar wanted to say that he had been watching Heahmund. Although not entirely a lie, he knew the bishop would see right through him. He did want to show his vulnerability to Heahmund; he could not let him view him as weak. He needed Heahmund to believe in him and cherish him as much as he did that God of his.  
  
Shaking hands began to unbuckle each and every strap on his legs. slowly removing whatever might be in the way. Ivar grabbed a hold of his pants and then proceeded to slide them off as well.  
  
Heahmund watched him, an intense stare meeting Ivar’s now soft eyes. He was so slow, so gentle. It was truly odd to see the viking act in this manner. The facade was down. He was letting Heahmund see his true self.   
  
Heahmund took a step closer to him, hand reaching down dangerously close to his crotch area.   
  
Ivar grabbed his wrist, tightening his grip, heartbeat increasing. “I did not tell you to do that.”  
  
“You do not need to tell me anything, Ivar,” Heahmund countered, tugging his underwear down, maintaining eye contact.   
  
Ivar’s eyes went wide as a cat’s, the fear obvious at this point.  
  
“You might be king, but in here, I am in charge. And as you said, there are no gods watching us.”  
  
Ivar tried to protest, but there was no use. He was pushed against the bed; the bishop on his knees in front of him, towering above him. Ivar found that he liked being scared. He liked the roughness.   
  
“You think I want to hurt you, Ivar. I assure you I do not.”  
  
Ivar chuckled.  
  
“Even after I cut you, bishop? Do you not think I deserve to be hurt? Ivar taunted. He was making it extremely hard for Heahmund.   
  
“Maybe you do deserve to be hurt…”  
  
He grabbed Ivar’s frail legs, lifting them ever so slightly.  
  
“But I told you, I am not going to hurt you.”  
  
Heahmund was so close to Ivar that he could breathe in his scent. He wrapped his arm around Ivar’s back, and with one determined pull their skin touch. Heahmund’s hand made its way over to Ivar’s hair, exploring whichever parts of his body he could get to. Their lips met each other again, sparks igniting in Ivar’s very soul. He felt as though he was made for this; like he’s been missing this his entire life.

 And perhaps he had.  
  
The kiss was rough, filled with a raw intensity as their heartbeats fastened. Ivar wanted more, his own arms sliding down the bishop’s back in search for something to hold onto.   
  
Ivar was not sure what to expect; how would the two of them even go about it? He was sure Heahmund had heard secrets about him; or lies, as he would tell anyone who dared to ask. He was, in fact, _boneless_ .   
  
“Ivar the Boneless is looking rather scared. Why is that?”   
  
Ivar hated the taunting tone in his voice, but for some reason, he also loved it.   
  
“I didn’t tell you to stop.”   
  
“So now you want it?” Heahmund teased; had he ever teased before? Strong hands ran up Ivar’s body, feeling every curve and every bone in his body.   
  
“Why are you taking so long, Christian?” Ivar hissed, eager to continue. The lower part of his body tingled in a way he had never experienced before.   
  
Before he knew it, Heahmund had shoved three fingers past his lips, nearly making him choke. At first, Ivar had thought it strange. He figured it was a thing the bishop enjoyed doing, so he would happily comply.   
  
The bishop’s fingers inched deeper down his throat, Ivar’s eyes glossy as he attempted to pull back. But Heahmund pressed his hand down further.   
  
A few minutes passed and Heahmund finally let Ivar pull back, coughing and heaving for air. The bishop had been so soft when they started, but now it seemed he did not want to play any more games.   
  
“I made your fingers wet, are you happy now?” Ivar nearly laughed, but Heahmund sure wasn ’ t having it.   
  
Ivar made contact with the rough mattress once again, the weigh t of Heahmund’s strong arms enough to keep him down.   
  
Heahmund glanced down at him, Ivar’s eyes filled with a series of different emotions. He looked scared, excited , and nervous all at once. The way he fumbled to hold onto something, desperately clinging to Heahmund, implied that he was in fact quite inexperienced.   
  
Heahmund caressed Ivar’s neck, gaining a shudder going through Ivar’s entire body. His other hand crept its way down his thighs . Ivar was preoccupied with the hand currently brushing against his neck, nearly not noticing the two wet fingers that slipped past his entrance.   
  
Ivar arched his back, eyes going wide in shock. Heahmund knew it would be better to start with one finger, but he also knew Ivar liked pain.   
  
Ivar was surprised to find his cock twitching at Heahmund’s fingers, bre a ching his entrance.   
  
Heahmund continued to explore the terrain of Ivar’s upper body ; a soft hand against his chest. Heahmund leaned down, lips brushing against Ivar’s to soothe him.   
  
Fingers pushed deeper inside, Ivar muttering words that Heahmund was unfamiliar with . His  eyes rolled into the back of his skull, Heahmund twisting and curling his fingers inside of him to draw a reaction from him . Ivar hissed, clenching his entrance around Heahmund’s fingers. Heahmund took this as an invitation to add yet another finger, his own length throbbing at the mere sight of Ivar squirming underneath him. Heahmund felt so powerful. To see how easily Ivar had submitted to him filled him with a want for more.   
  
Ivar gasped and grunted, supporting himself on his arms as he tried to push back against Heahmund. There was not much he could do in a situation like this, with his legs and all. He did not mind it, though. Heahmund truly had a gift from some sort of god, Ivar was sure of it. No mortal man could be so good at pleasuring another person.   
  
Hands grasped at Heahmund’s hair, Norse words spilling from Ivar’s already parted lips.   
  
“What?” Heahmund blinked, looking at him with a puzzled expression for a moment.   
  
“I said I want you to fuck me,” Ivar whimpered, getting awfully desperate at this point.   
  
Heahmund would have loved to see Ivar suffer for just a few more seconds, but his own erection was telling him otherwise, despite his wish to hurt the viking.   
  
Haeahmund grabbed Ivar’s legs and lined up to him, cock pushing against his abused entrance. Hands travelled up Ivar’s sides, fingers digging into his side, gaining a shiver. He tried to make his first thrust careful, but it was hard when Ivar was laying down and looking up at him with those bright blue eyes. It was hard when his brain, his animalistic urges, told him to do otherwise. As he thrusted inside, he could see Ivar trying to bite back a wince. It didn’t work, though, as Heahmund forced his way deeper inside.   
  
Ivar was tight, though expected, far tighter than anyone should be. Heahmund knew it hurt, but the way Ivar’s walls clenched around him had him groaning already. He knew he was hurting him, but Ivar was making the most unholy sounds and God help him, Heahmund only felt a stronger urge to keep going.   
  
He spread his legs wider, knowing Ivar was not able to do so himself.  Judging by the look on Ivar’s, face he didn’t seem much against it. When Heahmund was finally fully inside, Ivar hissed; it wasn’t because it hurt that much, but he had never experienced pain in this matter. By now, he was sure that this is where he was supposed to be; Heahmund’s cock buried deep inside him. Ivar would never admit this, so used to being in charge, but the way Heahmund’s hands travelled up his sides, nails scratching along his sensitive skin, had him quivering.   
  
Heahmund stayed put for a while, not intent to actually hurt Ivar, but Ivar reached out, hinting that he was certainly ready for whatever Heahmund has in store for him.   
  
At first it hurt. A pain so harsh that Ivar was unable to register what was happening. It shot up his body like fire, burning his insides. Ivar’s mind exploded with a blinding whiteness. Ivar laid on the bed, face closed in a grimace, and his skin paler than usual. Ivar had only ever taken note of what his brothers had said sex was like, and truly, this was quite different than what he had imagined.   
  
But the pain soon turned into pleasure, and Ivar could not imagine a time where he had felt this sort of pleasure, clouding his senses. He was in bliss.   
  
Ivar’s muscles were tensed, but Heahmund could tell he was already enjoying every last bit of it.   
  
_“Já.”_   
  
Soft words escaped his lips, eyes squeezing shut as Heahmund rolled his hips forward. Heahmund was not sure what those words meant exactly, but judging by the tone of his voice, it meant he enjoyed it.   
  
Heahmund pulled out just to thrust back inside, the sounds from Ivar’s lips only getting dirtier and louder. Heahmund rocked the two together, slow at first; as he had made it very clear, he did not want to hurt Ivar. He wanted to _please_ him.   
  
Ivar tried his best to keep up with the pace Heahmund had set, long slim fingers wandering up his back. He let a hand rest there, pulling him closer to himself, desperate to feel his warmth. The other travelled up to his hair, clenching his fist, pulling. He wanted to show Heahmund that he wanted this. That he wanted him.   
  
“Dear _God_ ,” Heahmund muttered, only receiving a choked laugh from Ivar’s lips.   
  
“Your- fuck- God is not watching.  I told you this, bishop.”   
  
Heahmund’s pace fastened, sweat already beginning to form beads on his forehead; struggling not to let this moment end as it had just started. With women he had never gotten the same satisfaction. Heahmund cursed himself- cursed the viking for making him like this. It was hard to blame Ivar since he had felt like this since as long as he could remember. Felt a need to sin. Of course, the viking had never had that problem. They took lightly on these issues, and he was sure that if anyone asked Ivar about Heahmund, he would tell them, in that soft voice, exactly  how their relationship worked.   
  
Words were hard to form in the bishop’s head, his mind preoccupied as he thrusted back and forth into Ivar’s entrance. Ivar held onto him as Heahmund continuously pulled out, only to thrust back in. Ivar took said thrusts, new foreign words spilling every now and then.   
  
Ivar’s eyes rolled into the back of his skull, drool running down his chapped lips and down his chin. The two started to move at a fluid rhythm, each grunt a sign of permission for Heahmund to speed up.   
  
The before so reluctant Ivar was now moaning, scratching and pulling at Heahmund’s hair as if his life depended on it. They fit so well together, and Ivar knew he never wanted this to end. He never wanted to know what it was like to not have the bishop buried deep inside him, pleasuring him in ways he had never even been able to imagine.   
  
Every time the bishop moved, Ivar made a noise; though Heahmund was not sure what all those noises meant, he knew that Ivar was enjoying it. He pulled harder at his hair, the bishop only hissing in response.   
  
The whole situation felt so intimate to both. The door was shut, blinds closed, and moonlight the only thing lighting up their faces. No one was here to see this. No one was here to see Ivar, the viking king of Kattegat, screaming and panting. If only people knew how submissive Ivar could be.   
  
Suddenly, without any warning, Ivar arched his back, crying out in pleasure. His fists clenched in Heahmund’s hair as he tried to hold onto something- tried to get some sort of footing, the pleasure so intense.   
  
_“Rassragr!”_   
  
Another unfamiliar word spilling from his lips; Heahmund assumed it was some sort of curse. Judging by the squirming, the whimpering, and his need to hold onto him, the bishop was sure he had found prostate.  
  
Driven by the unholy words from Ivar’s lips, the mixture of Norse and English, he sped up the pace, pulling only to thrust into that exact spot over and over. Ivar seemed pleased; one of his hands moving down to Heahmund’s broad chest, feeling every curve along the way. It was hard for him to focus, mind blank at this exact moment.   
  
As Heamund thrusted into him once again, Ivar snapped his head back, exposing his neck to Heahmund. A voice in the back of his head was telling him to mark him as his own, knowing that everyone would be able to see it, but he figured it would be best to settle with what he had for now.   
  
He leaned down, lips touching Ivar’s, the both of them hungrily and desperately moving their lips together as Heahmund kept up the face pace, pounding harder and faster with each thrust.   
  
Ivar’s eyes went glassy as he thrusted, biting and nibbling at Heahmund’s lips, feeling fuller than he had ever felt before. Heahmund couldn’t stop at this point-  too deep in pleasure; it was too good. Ivar was even better than he ever dared to dream.   
  
Ivar’s own neglected cock was caught between their bodies, and Heahmund let his hand travel down, grabbing a hold of it. Fingers curled around his length as he continued to thrust. He stroked fast and hard, something telling him that that was how the viking liked it. Even now, as inexperienced as Ivar was, he seemed to enjoy it rough. The bishop, with the same desire, would happily comply. He started to jerk him in time with each thrust, each thrust bringing both men closer to orgasm.   
  
Ivar glanced up at him with the most pure look on his face, despite the situation. Soft eyes burning into him, whimpering and muttering at each unwarned tug at his cock. Ivar’s muscled tensed once again, stomach tightening at the feel of Heahmund’s cock deep inside him while his hand continued to pull harshly at his member. He flushed under quick breaths, one of his hands grabbing at Heahmund’s hair, urging him to continue what he was doing because it just felt so good.   
  
Ivar had no protests whatsoever despite earlier, having been reluctant. Heahmund simply ventured on. His hand was caressing Ivar’s face, thumb sliding across his lips. The other hand was still tugging at his member, Ivar desperate to release.   
  
Ivar was not sure whether it was the roll of Heahmund’s hips, the thumb against his plump lips , or his index finger sliding across the slit of his cock, but Ivar finally felt himself release into the palm of Heahmund’s hand, the rest spilling out onto his stomach.   
  
Heahmund’s rhythm only fastened at this, the sound of the bed squeaking underneath him. Ivar’s whimpers unravelled every ounce of self control he had left; thrusts sped up, Ivar taking each and every one of them.   
  
Again, another whimper erupted from Ivar’s throat, making Heahmund spill his load deep inside of the heathen, hips continuously rolling into him as his let the peak of his orgasm overtake him.   
  
The bishop slowed down until his orgasm was rode out ; a mixture of deep breaths and pants filling the room.   
  
Heahmund knew he did not want to pull out, nor did he want it to end. The sound, the almost blaming sound Ivar made when he pulled out , pained him to no extent. His let himself fall flat against the bed, only a moment passing before Ivar was once again clinging to him, both having a desperate need to be close to one another.   
  
Both of them remained quiet for a while, neither knowing what to say.   
  
Silence. A silence that reminded Ivar of something he could not explain. His mind was too clouded, too focused, on the events that had just happened.  
  
Heahmund knew this was bad. He knew he should have never let the viking seduce him like he had. He had hated Ivar for such a long time. But now, everything had changed.   
  
It seemed now the bishop was ready to leave his entire life behind for the sake of a heathen.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are greatly appreciated!


	5. Pet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extremely delayed chapter! I've been super busy and have been preoccupied with hand-ins, assignments, presentations and what-not. This chapter definitely is not my favourite, since i view it as somewhat of a filler chapter. But it connects the story in a way, and i have much more interesting things planned for the two;)
> 
> As always, painfulprose helped med edit this chapter.

Heaps of light shone through the small windows. Ivar, blinded by the light in his face, sat up. Birds were chirping outside, and it seemed that some people had already awoken and started the day by now. Ivar, on the other hand, liked to take his time. To rest.

Ivar shivered, noticing the lack of warmth beside him. The room felt so cold compared to the night before. Memories of Heahmund flashed before his eyes; rough hands against his smooth skin, nails digging into his back, and lips pressing against his own. Ivar let his tongue touch his bottom lip, tracing along the small cut left there by Heahmund. He could almost taste the events of yesterday, so vivid in his brain. Ivar had never expected to be with a man in this manner, and he certainly had not expected to be as little in control as he was last night.

Ivar was once again reminded of Heahmund. Eyes wandered across the room, searching for a familiar face, and was met with a pair of blue, piercing eyes. The room was dimly lit, but it was enough to recognise the bishop in front of him. 

“You are up early, bishop,” Ivar said groggily as let his hands slide behind his head.

“So are you, your highness,” Heahmund replied.

Ivar merely laughed at the odd title, but decided not to say anything.

“This seems awfully familiar. Tell me, Heahmund, is it not the second time you are watching me sleep?”

Heahmund kept his mouth shut, turning his face to the side. Ivar sighed in frustration.

He grabbed his pants and pulled them on swiftly, slithering down the bed. He did not even bother to grab his crutches, and simply dragged himself towards the man, one hand at a time. Ivar’s body moved swiftly against the wooden planks, despite the rough material.

He reached Heahmund in no time and placed a hand on each thigh, using his upper strength to pull chest onto his lap. Turning his head, he muttered words in Latin, some that Ivar did not understand.

“Is that a uh, fantasy of yours, mh?” Ivar grinned devilishly, canines at exposal.

“I have no desire, nor fantasies, to copulate with a heathen.” Heahmund turned his attention right back to Ivar, now seeing the clear lust radiating off of him. Heahmund had a hard time regaining his composure. Not even for one second could he let his guard down. Ivar had proven to be a great strategist.

“Well, that was not what you were last night…” Hands slid up his clothed leg, reaching for the button that restrained Heahmund’s member.

In the blink of an eye had Heahmund’s strong fingers wrapped around Ivar’s wrist, knuckles turning white. Ivar was white as chalk, eyes and mouth frozen wide in an expression of stunned surprise. He had clearly been taken aback by the sudden movement. 

It only took him a few moments to regain his composure, swiftly pulling his hand away.

“Even after last night- why are you still denying it?” Ivar said, wearing a puzzled expression. Ivar always seemed to know far more than the average person, but his face said otherwise.

“Your brother came in.”

“My brother?”

“Hvitserk.”

Ivar furrowed his brows, wriggling down from Heahmund’s lap and retreating to the bed.

“So?” he said, shrugging it off.

Heahmund looked at him, giving an expression of incredulity in response to Ivar’s words. He turned his head, examining the viking in search for a response to the question currently on his mind. He found none.

“So? Your brother, your family, saw you in bed with another man. What would they not say? What would the people say if they knew you indulged in sins like-”

Heahmund’s response was cut short. Ivar laughed, timid at first. From deep inside him came a great shaking motion, his face.. growing tight. His hand rested on his stomach as he tried to regain his breath. As he eventually calmed down, his eyes wandered across Heahmund’s features.

“We do not care for such things. Sin is not really a thing here, bishop.”

“Would you care if I were to say that you were the one to receive? Or would it not be self-explanatory, Ivar the Boneless.”

Ivar tensed up. Anger was already starting to swell up inside him, blood rushing to his head. He felt hot, the words flung at him like a knife. Ivar looked like he was ready to explode at any given moment, but swallowed his retort. His lips curved upwards into a strained smile as he proceeded to reach for the remaining clothes.

Once dressed, he grabbed the crutches and pushed himself up to stand and hobbled towards the door, leaving the bishop without another word being exchanged.

 

*

 

The great hall was filled with laughter and noise. There were sounds spread across the hall, the risings and fallings of a conversation being held at a table near the corner. Ivar was attempting to quiet the uproar, a series of vikings fighting, the furniture creaking beneath them as they moved. 

No matter how long Heahmund had been there, he would never get used to this new way of living. He could not- the lifestyle was so much more different than the one in Wessex. Heahmund was used to a silence among people, whether it was at a church or a simple celebration.

Ivar was looking more or less dreadful. Usually he basked in the company received at such a celebration, but not now. His eyes shifted to the side, biting his lip tightly to hide any sort of emotion. Brows were knitted in concentration. Heahmund figured it was a sort of way to shield himself. The bishop knew well enough by now that Ivar did not like to be vulnerable. It was close to impossible to try and get him to convey any other emotion than anger.

It surprised the bishop. After his latter remark, he had expected Ivar to lunge towards him, hitting him with all he had. But instead, he looked sad. Eyes softer, hinting at an emotion Heahmund had never seen from Ivar. 

Heahmund pushed himself through the various crowds of people blocking his way. He hissed from the feeling of an elbow hitting him straight in the ribs. It was hard to get by. Everyone, of course, wished to speak to the king of Kattegat.

But as Heahmund moved closer to the viking, Ivar moved further away. He was unsure if it was intentionally or unintentionally.

None of the vikings took too kindly to Heahmund. He could feel the burning stares in the back of his head, sending shivers down his spine. None wanted anything to do with Saxon. No one wanted to talk to him. He looked like a wolf among sheep. His behavior, his reactions; no matter how hard he pretended among other vikings, it was hard to pretend to support their false gods.

He almost felt relief when he saw the familiar face of Hvitserk. That is, if it had not been for the awkward encounter he had suffered hours ago. He made his way to him and chose to sit down across from him.

Heahmund surely was not a man that showed his feelings to just about anyone. But when Ivar was in a bad mood, it surely could not be good for anyone under his rule. Even his own family.

“Heahmund. Has Ivar sent you over here?” Hvitserk muttered through gritted teeth, mead in hand.

“No. I came on my own terms, son of Ragnar,” he proceeded, earning a chuckle from Hvitserk.

“Uh-huh, well… I was thinking Ivar had, I don’t know, deployed you to be his messenger. You two sure do seem to be getting really close.” 

Heahmund had to bite back his frustration; there was no point in arguing. Still, his face reddened, blood boiling in his veins.

“I am not. I came here to ask if the king has been avoiding me for any particular reason.”

Silence. Hvitserk glanced up from the mug currently at his lips. His expression was puzzled, as if he could not quite point down what exactly the bishop had just told him.

“How should I know? Ivar never tells me anything. He shares more with you- ironic, isn’t it? He would rather confide in a Christian rather than his own brother.” Hvitserk shook his head in pure disbelief and got up to get another stein of mead. 

Heahmund watched as Hvitserk left the table in a rush. His eyes then rested on Ivar, who was currently retreating to his room. Heahmund found it odd. Ivar never left a celebration this early.

He placed both palms flat against the wooden table, cringing at the stickiness, and pushed himself up to stand. Heahmund followed in Ivar’s footsteps, the sounds of the vikings slowly dying out until he could hear nothing but a slight breeze outside.

When he reached the room, he laid his eyes upon Ivar, who was currently sitting on his bed, already in the midst of undoing the clasps around his legs. One thing Heahmund noticed was that Ivar looked tired. Not the kind of tired that just needed a good rest, but one that needed so much more. His eyes sunken, head lowered, cursing while he undid the straps. He was slouching forward ever so slightly, looking like a person who had the world on their shoulders, weighing his entire body down. For a moment Heahmund pitied him. But he knew well enough that Ivar did not need nor deserve his pity.

Lost in thought, he had not realised Ivar’s eyes resting on him, analysing, searching for an answer. He had these deep, blue eyes that could pierce through any man and leave him speechless. No person desired nor was able to take a stand against Ivar the Boneless.

“How is it you always come to see me in a state like this?” he said, head gesturing down towards his legs.

“You say it as if I do it on purpose.” Heahmund countered as he pushed the door shut.

A simple gesture, perhaps. But Ivar’s eyes followed the creaking door until it was pushed entirely shut, lips widening into a smile. A smile Heahmund knew far too well by now.

“You want to be alone with me? That can mean three things, bishop. Either you want to kill me, yell at me, or…”

Or?

“...Or you want to fuck me.”

Heahmund tensed.

“I told you I would never-”

“Ah, you are right. Of course, bishop. You always want to fuck me.” 

Words got caught in the back of Heahmund’s throat, blocked by something he could not quite tell what was. His mouth felt extremely dry, and it seemed that whenever a word sprung forth in his mind it was immediately thrown away. Ivar had that effect on people. 

“You have nothing to say? Alright. I will do the talking, then,” Ivar said with a smile on his lips. An unusually kind smile. However, his words were not as kind.

“I assume you are going to apologise to me. For making fun of me. For humiliating me- am I right?”

Heahmund turned his head to the side. Silence.

“And then you are going to fuck me again, isn’t that right, Heahmund?”

Heahmund tightened his fist.

“And tomorrow you are gonna pray to your god, humiliate me again, and return like a faithful dog, begging me to please you again. That is what you are, correct?”

“A dog.”

Heahmund would not let Ivar get the satisfaction of humiliating him like he did with everyone else in Kattegat. 

Ivar proceeded to slide off the bed, his snake-like body inching closer to him. He came to a stop, blue eyes glancing up at him again.

“Sit, dog. Are you not going to obey your master?”

The words went directly to Heahmund’s head. He tried with all his might to retain the anger inside him, but to no avail. It was building up inside him, like boiling water threatening to spill at any given moment.

His hands, without him having much say in it, went directly to Ivar’s neck. Strong hands wrapped around it tightly, closing around his windpipe. Ivar’s eyes went wide in fear, almost. His head spun as he attempted to gasp for air but the grip around his neck was too strong. Ivar’s own hands frantically went to pry Heahmund’s off, but Heahmund had the upper hand. His heart was beating fast, face red and eyes darting to either side, looking for anything that might help him escape the Saxon’s deathly grip; but he found none.

He clawed his fingers at his hands uselessly, digging his fingernails into his wrist as an attempt to dislodge him. His once fast heartbeat was slowing down as he felt himself slowly losing consciousness. Hands fell to his side, limp, all energy he once had now escaping him. His eyes turned white, his vision darkening. Ivar saw a series of images flash before his eyes. His brothers, his father, mother, every battle he had ever won, and finally…

“H-Heahmund!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment to tell me what you think so far :)  
> I will see if i can post more since i have a break next week.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaah!  
> This is actually my first fanfic ever.  
> I hope you all like it, and i certainly hope i did the characters justice.  
> Comments/questions are much appreciated!


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